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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25945051">so what if it's us?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/poindextears/pseuds/sincerelyreidburke'>sincerelyreidburke (poindextears)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kiersey College OC-Verse [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kiersey College (Webseries), Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chirping, Coffee Shops, College, College Hockey, College Parties, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Kiersey College, M/M, New Relationship, Quinn makes his senior peer mentor age twenty years every time they interact, So much kissing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Useless Soft Gay Idiots, in general</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:53:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,542</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25945051</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/poindextears/pseuds/sincerelyreidburke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did you, uh..." Nick starts. "Did you want to do the lab thing first, or the other thing you mentioned in your email?"<br/>Quinn feels, for just a second, a little guilty. The 'other thing he mentioned in his email' is, in fact, something he wants to speak with Nick and Nick in particular about, but it has nothing to do with the pre-med program. He finds a bit of consolation in the knowledge that his freshman-senior relationship with Nick isn't only about the pre-med program, though— goodness, he invited him to a party, and there's nothing academic about parties.<br/>Unconventional as it may be, Quinn has a question. And he knows that Nick will be able to answer it.<br/>"Actually," he says, clearing his throat, "I'd love to start with that, if that's okay."<br/>He folds his hands on the table and takes a short breath, then looks him in the eye and gathers his composure.<br/>“I need you to tell me everything you know about ice hockey.”</p><p>Or: Quinn goes to his first Kiersey hockey game.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>OMC/OMC, Sebastián "Nando" Hernandez/Quinn Cooper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kiersey College OC-Verse [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878397</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Kiersey College</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a "re-homing" of a fic I wrote previously for fandom. ICYMI, I'm in the process of creating an original universe for some of my former Check, Please! OCs, because their content got a bit too out of hand and unrelated to that fandom. The bulk of this story stays pretty much the same; I just had to change some characters around! Have another go at Quinn and Nando's first kiss.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Quinn's freshman year</em> | <em>November 2018</em></p><p>
  <em>Wednesday </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Quinn is holding a stakeout.</p><p>It’s taking place in the corner, at a table tucked next to the window at the Bluegrass Café. It’s optimal positioning, because it gives him a good view of the door, while also being far enough away from it that he isn’t getting hit with blasts of the brisk air from outside every time somebody comes in or goes out. This is important, because Bluegrass is a <em> busy </em> place this morning. He’s only been here for ten minutes, but all ten of those minutes were spent waiting in line.</p><p>It’s actually only 9:02, and he was supposed to be here for nine, so he’s a bit early. He figures any minute now, he’ll be joined by his company. He wraps his fingers around his warm, steaming mug tea— earl gray, and it’s a good strand, too; Bluegrass has campus’ best tea by a long shot— and burrows his chin into his scarf like it’ll get the chill out.</p><p>It’s getting <em> cold </em> for the season. Winter is here. Or it’s going to be here, very shortly. He guesses it can’t really be <em> winter </em> until after Thanksgiving, the final autumn holiday.</p><p>Quinn keeps his eyes on the door, after glancing for just a moment down at the fresh coffee he’s placed opposite his own seat. He hopes it’s still hot, but then again, it’s steaming just like his tea is, so it should be. Between the two mugs sits the paper bag that holds the pastries he got, a chocolate chip muffin and a blueberry scone.</p><p>He thinks he might be a little irrationally excited for this date.</p><p>Because it <em> is </em> a date, right? He still doesn’t truly know. He’s fond of labels, of sorting things into neat categories, and it’s been just under two weeks since the Halloween party, just over a week since their first time seeing each other after that. They’ve been spending plenty of time together— this is their third time meeting for breakfast or coffee at Bluegrass, and they had lunch together last Friday; Sebastián even came to watch a movie in his room on Saturday night. He’s quite certain that that’s what this is— dating. He may never have done it before this, but he knows this is what people who are dating do. They spend time with each other. They text. They think about each other and get butterflies.</p><p>Well, Quinn really has no idea if Sebastián has been getting butterflies, actually. But he knows as much of himself.</p><p>He’s never felt like this before.</p><p>Sebastián swings through the front door of the shop in a hurry, this big, lumbering figure in jogger khakis and a Kiersey Hockey sweatshirt. Thank God, he’s also wearing his one stocking cap. Quinn has been fearing for his Arizonan life since he met him and his ill-prepared dressing habits.</p><p>He looks around the seating area, and Quinn smiles a little, watching him sweep the room, before his eyes fall on him and Quinn flashes a wave. He gestures to the setup he’s created at their table, and, although it’s unlikely Sebastián will hear him across the room, says, “I got you a coffee.”</p><p>But even if he doesn’t understand it, he must get the general point, because he darts over to the table. He’s all smiles and good energy; his positivity is contagious and endearing. “Hey!” he says, as he slides into the chair across from Quinn. “Hi! How are you?”</p><p>“I’m doing well,” Quinn replies, with a short nod, and there are the butterflies again as he looks across the table into his eyes. His curls are sticking out from under his hat, and he looks a little windblown. “And yourself?”</p><p>“Oh, I’m great,” he replies, then surveys the table and the coffee in front of his spot. “Did you buy this stuff?”</p><p>Quinn nods and digs into the paper bag, pulling out the muffin and passing it to him on a napkin. “Vanilla creamer, two sugars. And this—” He stops sliding the muffin when it lands next to his mug. “Is chocolate chip. I hope it’s alright the coffee isn’t iced.” He pauses, twirls his tea string around his finger, and adds, “I’d hate to see you get a chill that’ll last you all day.”</p><p>Sebastián smiles at him, shaking his head slowly like he’s in disbelief. “You are a dream boy, Quinn Cooper,” he remarks, resting his cheek in one hand. He has a round face, and a cute one to boot, and Quinn kind of wants to put his hands on both sides of it, to get up close, to see what it might be like to kiss him.</p><p>He exhales a little. He’s getting ahead of himself. They’re not even official yet, as much as he’d like to be. “Well, you can’t drink iced coffee all winter,” he informs him, lifting his teabag by the string to see if it’s steeped enough yet. The color of the actual drink is a nice light brown, just the way he likes it, so he blots the teabag on a napkin and tests out the inaugural sip. It’s perfect.</p><p>“You underestimate my power,” Sebastián replies, which Quinn is pretty sure is a Star Wars quote. “<em> But </em>, for you,” he adds, with a little wink across the table that sends Quinn’s stomach fluttering again, “I might consider factoring in some hot coffee every now and then.”</p><p>Quinn pauses with his tea still at his lips. “All for me? I’m honored.”</p><p>He shrugs. “Maybe you just have that effect on people.”</p><p>“Maybe so.” Quinn pauses while he drinks, looking across the table at him. He feels warm all over, and he’s confident it’s not just the tea’s doing.</p><p>Sebastián is removing the wrapper on his muffin now. Quinn slides his backpack on the floor so it’s against the window, and he’s suddenly very aware— even knew he knew this before— of how long Sebastián’s legs are under the table. If he looks down, he can see his sneakers slotted between his own Oxfords. He wonders if it would be weird if he pressed his foot to his.</p><p>He doesn’t think so. They spent all of Saturday night curled up in his bed watching a movie, after all.</p><p>But he has to talk to him. He has to solidify this. Or at least find out if Sebastián wants to solidify this. He’s not sure how many more dates in limbo his brain will be able to take.</p><p>“So,” Sebastián says, and Quinn looks up at him; he’s about to attack the muffin. It looks so small in his tanned hands. They’re huge and warm, and Quinn has been thinking about them far more than he has business doing. “How much do I owe you?”</p><p>“Oh— what?” Quinn shakes his head at him. “No. Nothing.”</p><p>Sebastián raises his eyebrows with a mouthful of muffin. “But—”</p><p>“You paid last time,” he points out. “And besides, I don’t mind.”</p><p>Sebastián smiles. He has such a lovely smile. Quinn registers, distantly, that he’s never felt so light before, so eager. It’s almost… giddy. “Wow,” Sebastián says, reaching halfway across the table to touch his hand to the edge of his wrist. “Such a gentleman.”</p><p>He smiles, like a fool, and gives Sebastián’s big, soft hand a good squeeze. For a moment, he thinks now is the time— he should gather his thoughts and ask, just to air his curiosity. <em> Are we dating? Would you want to be dating? I’ve never done this before, but I want it to be you. </em></p><p>It’s not like him to be nervous. Actually, he’s not <em> nervous </em>. He’s just… so new to this, that he wants to ensure he doesn’t mess it up. It’s been over a week of this same, soft feeling. He knows what he wants, but he just has to figure out how best to say it.</p><p>And while he’s trying to decide if he should start the conversation, Sebastián speaks again. “What time is your lab?”</p><p>Quinn sighs a little, glancing out the window across the gray campus, in the direction of the science center. Chemistry lab has not really been at the forefront of his mind lately, despite the fact that it’s his first obligation this morning. “Ten,” he murmurs, wrapping his hands around his tea again. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it much.”</p><p>Sebastián laughs, and it’s a big, lovely noise. “Gee, I can’t imagine why,” he replies, with one arched eyebrows, then adds, “Why do you put yourself through it?”</p><p>Quinn shrugs a shoulder. “How else am I going to be a doctor?”</p><p>“Very noble,” Sebastián replies, nodding steadily. “And fancy.”</p><p>Now it’s Quinn’s turn to laugh a little. “There’s nothing all that fancy about Gen Chem.”</p><p>“Maybe not,” he says, “but medical school. <em> That’s </em> fancy.”</p><p>Quinn shakes his head at his tea. “I’m only a freshman.”</p><p>“That’s true.” Sebastián pauses. “Wouldn’t want to rush it along.”</p><p>He exhales. “Exactly.”</p><p>Sebastián is already halfway through his muffin. The boy can eat like nothing he’s ever seen. Quinn is vaguely impressed by it. “Anyway,” he says, between bites, and thank God, not actually talking with his mouth full, “I was just wondering how much time we had.”</p><p>Quinn nods. “About an hour,” he replies, then grimaces. “I wish it were more.”</p><p>“So do I.” Sebastián pauses, with another one of those soft smiles, and then adds, “But I’m glad we’ve been hanging out so much.”</p><p>“Oh, so am I,” he says, and he hopes he sounds as emphatic as he feels. “This is always lovely.”</p><p>Oh, screw it. He’s going to try it. He presses his foot to his sneaker under the table. It may be a small gesture, but Quinn watches his face, and it makes him smile. Neither of them moves.</p><p>
  <em> Ask him now. </em>
</p><p>But then Sebastián leans across the table. “So how’s your morning?” he asks, and Quinn knows, somehow, that he’s sort of missed his window.</p><p>*</p><p>It goes by too quickly. Quinn is starting to think that <em> all </em>time spent with him goes by too quickly, because he can’t seem to figure out how to get enough of it. When 9:45 rolls around, and they’ve finished their pastries and drinks, talking all the while about classes and snow and then somehow digressing into a spirited disagreement on the best types of cheese, Bluegrass starts to clear out. It’s the signal of the approaching class changeover, and Quinn knows what it means, even though he doesn’t want it to.</p><p>“Well,” he murmurs, during a lull in conversation, pressing his cheek into his hand. “As much as I’d like to stay here, my presence is required in lab in approximately fifteen minutes.”</p><p>Sebastián smiles at him. “Are you saying you prefer my company to the riveting experience of pouring chemicals into other chemicals for three hours?”</p><p>“Believe it or not,” he replies, “I prefer your company to most things lately.”</p><p>Sebastián looks like he’s won the lottery. Quinn can’t help the surge of pride he feels. It’s like getting a standing ovation. It’s maybe even better than that.</p><p>“Well, I’ll walk you there,” Sebastián says. “To the science center, I mean.”</p><p>“Oh.” Quinn raises his eyebrows and hopes he comes off as flirty. “That’s very gentlemanly of you.”</p><p>They clear their table— Quinn brushes the crumbs off of it with a napkin before they go— and bring their mugs to the little dish station at the corner of the counter before leaving the building. Outside, it’s cold, maybe colder than it was when Quinn walked over here from the dorm this morning, and the sky is heavy with overcast clouds that look foreboding of snow.</p><p>They fall into step next to each other on the sidewalk, and Quinn winds his arm into his outstretched elbow. He has long legs, but Quinn walks fast, so they’re an even match. “<em> Ow </em>,” Sebastián says, wincing, and laughing at himself a little. Quinn raises his eyebrows as he continues, “I didn’t think I’d already be sore.”</p><p>“Sore from what?”</p><p>“Morning practice.” Sebastián pauses. “I was up at five-thirty for it.”</p><p>“<em> Oof </em> .” Quinn gets up <em> sort </em>of early, but for him that means seven o’clock, not the crack of dawn. And if Sebastián’s good morning texts on the weekends have been any indication, he’s not naturally a morning person, so he must not be a fan. “That doesn’t sound like a very nice experience.”</p><p>“It’s not,” Sebastián replies, “but the nice thing is it means your evening is free.” He pauses again, then shrugs. “But Allard— our coach— he’s, like, proponent number one of morning practice. And our captain is a fan of them, too..."</p><p>“I see.” Quinn nods like he has any idea how sports practices work. Sebastián has talked about hockey a good bit since they’ve been hanging out; he was even off campus for a game last Sunday. But Quinn has yet to <em> really </em> understand ice hockey, besides basic knowledge, like the fact that it happens on skates and that the ice rink is called Meelia and Sebastián plays defense.</p><p>Still, he figures practice can’t be so different from rehearsal. Although the idea of getting up at five-thirty for a rehearsal on a class day sounds… less than ideal.</p><p>“So you’re at the mercy of your coach and captain,” he adds, looking up at him, and Sebastián nods.</p><p>“Something like that,” he replies. “But Park is great. So's Allard. But Allard's better when we're playing well.”</p><p>Quinn laughs. Since his first encounters with the Kiersey Men’s Hockey team, at the Halloween party two-some weeks ago, he’s interacted with the captain, Parker, a handful of times. Sort of the whole reason Quinn wound up at that Halloween party to begin with is that his senior pre-med peer mentor is <em>dating</em> the hockey captain. He followed Nick, his mentor, to a hockey party, a little nervous and out of his element. But by the end of the night, he'd met this lovely boy, and he doesn't regret a thing.</p><p>Quinn tips against him just gently, to see what he’ll do, and he leans right back into him with a little smile cast down his way. Quinn can’t help the self-satisfied feeling. He likes walking around campus like this, on a cute boy’s arm. If passers-by want to look, let them.</p><p>As they climb the stairs that lead up the hill to the science center, Quinn asks, “When’s your next game?”</p><p>“Oh, it’s Friday.” Sebastián pauses. “We’re home this weekend, which is nice, ‘cause between you and me? I don’t really like sleeping in hotels.”</p><p>Quinn catalogues the information about the game, and then asks, “Why not?”</p><p>Sebastián shrugs. “You have to pack a bag, and I always end up forgetting something.” He pauses. “I mean, I room with Ben, and since he’s my roommate anyway, there’s no real, like, horror stories. But it’s just weird, being away from campus so much.” He reaches across himself and rests his hand against Quinn’s, for a moment, where he’s holding onto his arm. When he speaks, there’s a smile on his face again. “Plus, I can’t see you when I’m off-campus.”</p><p>There go the butterflies again, as Quinn looks up at him. He has nice eyes, dark brown, around the same color as his hair. He’s smooth, charming— but not in a way where it feels forced, or like he’s trying too hard. There’s so much authenticity to him, even when he’s flirting.</p><p>“You’re very charming,” Quinn remarks, and Sebastián laughs.</p><p>“I told you,” he says. “You have an effect on people.”</p><p>Quinn is in too deep— but he’s never been more pleased with himself.</p><p>When they get to the front steps of the science building, Quinn asks, “Where are <em> you </em> headed now?”</p><p>Sebastián shrugs. “Back to my room, I guess. I have class at 11:30.”</p><p>“Have fun,” Quinn hums, and then, because it’s true and he’s been soft inside for days, “I’ll be thinking of you.”</p><p>“Me, too.” He’s smiling. Quinn unwinds his hand from his arm at the bottom of the steps. They’re blocking the way a little, but there’s a path next to them for people to walk. And besides, they’ll be quick. He looks up at him for a moment, watches his breath condensate in the cold.</p><p>And then— oh, you know what, he’s just going to do it. He rises on his tiptoes, touches his hand just faintly to the side of his face, and pecks him dryly on the cheek. When he pulls off, Sebastián is beaming like a fool.</p><p>“Thanks for breakfast,” Sebastián says, like he’s in a daze, and he knows in that moment that he made a good call.</p><p>“You’re welcome.” He pauses. “I’ll text you after lab?”</p><p>Sebastián reaches for and squeezes at his hand. “Perfect.” </p><p>On his way up the steps, he turns to look back at him once. Sebastián flashes a wave. His butterflies are persistent.</p><p>He proceeds to spend his entire lab thinking about him.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> Thursday </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Outgoing Message</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thursday, 8:21 AM </em>
</p><p>
  <em> FROM: qcooper22@kiersey.edu</em>
</p><p>
  <em>TO: nflory19@kiersey.edu</em>
</p><p>
  <em> SUBJECT: Gen chem lab question</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hello Nick!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I have a draft of my latest report for my gen chem lab, and I was wondering if you would be willing to take a quick pass over it to ensure everything looks correctly formatted and I didn't make any glaring errors. I also had one other question for you, but it's best asked in a verbal conversation, so is there any time today or tomorrow that you could meet up? I would greatly appreciate it!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Quinn Cooper</em>
</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>Nick Flory: Hey, I got your email. You know it's okay to text me, right?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Quinn Cooper: Agh, I'm sorry! I just didn't want to clog your text messages too badly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nick Flory: No, it's okay, trust me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nick Flory: I can meet you in the library tonight, if you want?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Quinn Cooper: That would be perfect; thank you so much!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Quinn Cooper: What time is best for you? I do have a drama club meeting at 7, but I could skip it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nick Flory: Is 6 okay?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Quinn Cooper: Yes, that's perfect. I do appreciate it— thank you!</em>
</p><p>*</p><p>He's there before Nick arrives, but spots him when he does. He's tall and thin, with big glasses and brown hair, and his outfits rotate steadily through a few pretty distinctive sweatshirts, so he's not hard to spot. Quinn waves him over to the table he's staked out, straightens his printed lab notes, and takes a deep breath. He's never exactly been <em>intimidated</em> by Nick— he's so soft-spoken that he often comes off as a bit anxious, and Quinn really doesn't want to overwhelm him, especially given that by being his academic peer mentor, Nick is doing <em>him</em> a favor. But he very much <em>does</em> want to impress him, because impressions, in general, are important to him, and Nick is, from an academic standpoint, exactly where he wants to be when <em>he's</em> a senior.</p><p>"Hi, Quinn." Nick drops his bag at the table and sits across from him. "How are you?"</p><p>"I'm very well," Quinn replies. "And thank you for meeting me. I really do appreciate it."</p><p>"You're welcome." Nick leans forward, craning his neck like he's trying to read the printed stuff Quinn has placed in front of himself. "Did you, uh..." Nick starts. "Did you want to do the lab thing first, or the other thing you mentioned in your email?"</p><p>Quinn feels, for just a second, a little guilty. The 'other thing he mentioned in his email' is, in fact, something he wants to speak with Nick and Nick in particular about, but it has nothing to do with the pre-med program. He finds a bit of consolation in the knowledge that his freshman-senior relationship with Nick isn't <em>only</em> about the pre-med program, though— goodness, he invited him to a <em>party</em>, and there's nothing academic about parties. <em>As your peer mentor, I want to be a resource to you</em>, Nick said once, early in the semester, during one of their first conversations. <em>My adjustment to college was difficult, and my mentor helped a lot. Don't be afraid to ask me questions.</em></p><p>Unconventional as it may be, Quinn has a question. And he knows that Nick will be able to answer it.</p><p>"Actually," he says, clearing his throat, "I'd love to start with that, if that's okay."</p><p>"Of course." Nick nods, but looks maybe a little confused. "Are you alright?"</p><p>"Oh, I'm perfectly fine," he replies with a nod. "But thank you for asking."</p><p>He folds his hands on the table and takes a short breath, then looks him in the eye and gathers his composure.</p><p>“I need you to tell me everything you know about ice hockey.”</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> Friday </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The hockey schedule is posted online, but he texts Nick just to be sure.</p><p>
  <em> Quinn Cooper: Is the game tonight at 7? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nick Flory: The hockey game? Yes</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nick Flory: Wait, are you coming?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nick Flory: Do you want me to save you a seat?</em>
</p><p>*</p><p>He has never been inside the Meelia Arena.</p><p>He’s walked by it plenty of times. But he’s never had a need to enter the building before. It has a lot of seating, but so does the auditorium at the Beckett Performing Arts Center, where their freshman class orientation meetings took place. The first thing he notices when he walks through the main doors, after paying his student ticket fee of five dollars, is that it’s <em> loud </em> inside. Loud enough that he goes straight for his ears to turn them down. On top of the noise of a packed crowd in the stands, there’s music playing through some kind of stereo system, at a volume he thinks is fit to split eardrums. Once the balance of sound is better in his ears, he makes his way from the top level where he came in to the place Nick said he would be. Thank God, it only takes him a few seconds to spot him, thanks to one of his familiar hoodies (Kiersey Hockey this time). Both teams are already skating around on the ice; the Kiersey team wears blue and gold, and they’re taking turns trying to score on the goaltender like it’s some kind of warm-up. Quinn notices that not many of their pucks are actually entering the net, since Ben is catching or blocking them all.</p><p>He makes his way down the stairs between rows of bleachers, scanning the ice and the players on it. Yesterday, in the library, Nick gave him a valuable crash-course in the basic workings of hockey. This will be his first game, but he hopes not his last.</p><p>It’s just. He wanted to come and see Sebastián in his natural habitat.</p><p>"Over here, Quinn." Nick is waving over his head, like he's not sure if he can see him. He gestures to an empty seat next to himself; there's someone sitting on the other side of him.</p><p>"Hello, Nick," he says, before sitting down. On one side of him is the Plexiglass, which leads into a small box big enough for one person; it's currently vacant, and there's an identical box on the other side of it. "How are you?"</p><p>Nick shifts in his seat. Quinn has noticed that he's a fidgety person. "I'm doing alright." The bleachers are cold. Quinn should have brought a blanket, but at least he's wearing a scarf. "It's kind of cool that you came. And— oh, uh, this is Gemma, also." The girl sitting next to Nick leans forward at her name. She has wavy, brown hair, and she's wearing a big Kiersey Hockey hoodie. Quinn signs hello at her. "Gemma, this is Quinn; he's dating one of the freshmen on the team."</p><p><em> Oop. </em>“Well, um.” He pauses and lets off an uncharacteristically awkward chuckle. “Technically, we aren’t dating. Yet, that is.”</p><p>"Wait... really?" Nick furrows his brow a little; he looks surprised. "He hasn't asked you out yet? Parker might kill him."</p><p>Quinn looks out over the ice, hunting for him, and replies, “You could just as easily kill me, given I’ve yet to figure out how to ask him about it.”</p><p>Nick smiles, just a little, which is a comforting gesture. "Well, I don't get <em>all</em> the team gossip, but apparently Park thinks the two of you should be together."</p><p><em>Goodness</em>, neither Nick nor Parker knows just how much Quinn would love that.</p><p>Quinn watches names on jerseys whiz by him— he recognizes number 20, Tremblay; that's Remy, and he knows that number 28, Borst, must be Parker, because he has a C on his jersey. All of them are gigantic. Quinn feels dwarfish in comparison, and he’s not even standing next to any of them.</p><p>“Quinn, is this your first hockey game?” asks Gemma, over the noise. He goes to fumble with his volume again; he’s having trouble getting it just right, but he nods at her while he does so.</p><p>“It is,” he replies. “I thought I should come and see what it’s like.”</p><p>She flashes a friendly smile. “You’re in for a treat,” she replies. “My boyfriend plays, too. Number 32?”</p><p>“Oh?” Quinn hunts the ice, but can't find Gemma's boyfriend any easier than he can find Sebastián. <em>A</em><em>ck </em>, they’re moving so fast. He leans forward like it’ll help, and then, with another little grin like he knows just what he's up to, Nick comes to the rescue. “Sebastián's number 43,” he says.</p><p>Quinn exhales. “Thank you,” he replies, and from that point it’s a bit easier to spot him. He’s waiting in line to try to score on Ben in net, shuffling back and forth on his skates.</p><p>Oh. <em> Oh. </em>In his gear, he’s— so large. It’s quite the visual. Quinn swallows, and his throat is dry.</p><p>He has suddenly never been more excited to watch a sport in his life.</p><p>*</p><p>So Sebastián is big on the ice. Quinn knew this, because he’s big on dry land, too. But he’s even big in <em> comparison </em> to his teammates— Remy is almost comically smaller than him when they stand next to each other. Other players, like the ones whose jerseys say Jefferson and Nguyen, are pretty tall, but Sebastián is just… Quinn needs to breathe. He skates by the spot where he’s seated, and Quinn thinks, <em> God, I want him to crush me </em>, and then immediately has to shake himself out.</p><p>He presses a hand to his cheek. Somehow, even though it’s cold inside the ice rink, he’s very warm.</p><p>The game itself is fast-paced, and even with Nick's explanation from last night under his belt, Quinn has a little trouble keeping up with what’s going on. He tries to catalogue the happenings— this is what he called a face-off, and now they’re shooting on net, and that was a scoring chance, but they missed it, so the other team is taking it and trying to score, et cetera— but the puck moves so quickly, it’s hard to follow.</p><p>The scoreboard helps, occasionally. When the other team gets the first goal, it shows <em> Kiersey 0 Guest 1 </em> , and then, ten minutes later, when number 17, Yang, scores, it goes to <em> Kiersey 1 Guest 1 </em>. It stays that way through the rest of the second period— they’re called periods, right?— and then they go to intermission, which is the most familiar word in the entire process.</p><p>“There's one period left,” Nick tells him, as he watches the back of Sebastián’s jersey, the team disappearing into the tunnel that she mentioned earlier leads them to the locker room. “If they’re still tied after three, it goes to overtime.”</p><p>“Overtime,” Quinn echoes, with a short nod. “I see.” He pauses. “And if nobody scores during overtime?”</p><p>Nick shrugs. “It ends in a tie. Kinda weird, but...” He trails off for a minute, then, to Gemma, says, “That was a clutch goal by David, eh?”</p><p>It's maybe the most frat-boy thing he has ever heard Nick say, and Nick is by no means a frat boy. Maybe it's just a product of him spending so much <em>time</em> around frat boys. “The man, the myth, and the legend," Gemma muses, like they have discussed this many times.</p><p>They’re referring, Quinn is distantly aware, to the goal that number 19 scored earlier. Quinn has been paying a lot more attention to Sebastián than to anything else on the ice, but the crowd got audibly excited for that moment.</p><p>“Are you doing alright?” Nick asks him, as the buzzer sounds to signal the start of the third period. Quinn winces at the noise in his ears, but nods all the same, because he is.</p><p>He grins. “Nice,” he says, and then adds, “You may want to get used to this, if you plan on doing this regularly.”</p><p>Quinn watches number 43 come back onto the ice. He isn’t wearing his helmet, and for a moment Quinn gets a better look at his face. His curls are sweaty, and he wears an exhilarated smile, knocking his stick against his captain’s leg as he skates by him.</p><p>To Nick, he replies, “I do plan on that.”</p><p>For the first part of the third period, not much happens. Neither team scores, and Quinn can almost feel the crowd growing anxious as the clock counts down with the score still at a draw. Every time the opposing team makes an attempt to score, he sees Nick and Gemma both jump a little. But Ben is good at keeping the other team out.</p><p>Then, when there are eight minutes left on the clock, there’s a development. During a rush while they’re crossing the ice moving away from Kiersey's net, a player on the opposing team hooks their stick around Remy’s skate, and he goes toppling forward, hitting the ice on his hands and knees. “<em>Oof </em>,” Quinn says, only vaguely conscious that he’s spoken out loud— and the whole arena goes up in arms. Several Kiersey players on the bench stand up to protest, and next to him, Nick frowns and mumbles something possibly profane about how the move was dirty.</p><p>The crowd heckles, and the referee blows his whistle. Meanwhile, Remy stands up— it looks like he’s fine; he landed semi-gracefully despite being tripped. But the real draw of attention is Sebastián. Quinn can see him yelling, or at least spouting probably colorful language, at the player who tripped Remy, who looks wholly unbothered and even maybe a little smug. Sebastián shoves him a little, and the guy stumbles backwards and starts to retaliate just as the referee comes between what looks like a brewing scuffle.</p><p>Quinn scoots forward on the bleacher. The referee makes some kind of hand signal that is definitely not ASL, but must mean something to hockey people, because the next second, the entire crowd reacts.</p><p>“Wow,” Nick remarks, looking vaguely amused. “We've got an enforcer.”</p><p>Witnessing Nick, who he previously thought was a strict academic, talking to himself during hockey games, is an entertaining concept. But because he doesn't want to miss anything, Quinn watches the ice. The referee points Sebastián and the tripping guy from the other team in the direction of the box next to his seat. The crowd around him are all heckling, mostly shouting profanities about the tripping guy, but he and Sebastián both cross the ice, led by the referee, until he puts them in the little Plexiglass cells like it’s solitary confinement.</p><p>Sebastián looks sort of pleased with himself; a lopsided smile on his face under his helmet shield gets more and more visible as he approaches. Once he sits down on the bench inside the box— well, he more jumps into the box, then plops onto the seat, propping his stick under his chin like it’s all entertaining— Quinn looks sideways and wonders if he’s going to notice that he’s sitting right next to him.</p><p>Up close, he’s buff in his jersey and shoulder pads. He waves to the crowd around him like he’s a political figure, then looks to the guy in the other cell, bumping against the glass that separates them and flashing a thumbs-up with his glove. The guy rolls his eyes and looks away. Gemma laughs at the scene, and Quinn chuckles, too— it’s like he enjoys this, what seems clearly meant as a punishment for getting rough with the other team.</p><p>Sebastián gets his bearings inside the little cell, and two matching countdown clocks show up on the <em> Penalty </em> part of the scoreboard. Kiersey 43 and Guest 19 both have to sit for two minutes. Nick explained penalties to him last night, as a cursory sort of add-on after his regular gameplay explanation. It’s a funny concept, actually— breaking the rules means you have to go sit by yourself in a box for two minutes and think about what you did wrong.</p><p>Quinn is grinning about it when Sebastián looks to the side, and right at him.</p><p>His eyes widen. Quinn wonders, absently, if he’s not supposed to be distracting him while the game is still going on, but he waves a little anyway, flashing a small smile.</p><p>Sebastián lights up. He jumps clean out of his seat and knocks his glove against the glass, a huge grin overtaking his face, as he waves back at him. There must be only a few feet and the Plexiglass separating them, but Quinn laughs at his reaction, feeling for a second like they’re the only two people in the room. <em> Hi </em>, he mouths, and Sebastián laughs out loud right back.</p><p><em> You’re at a hockey game! </em>he says, or maybe he, too, is just mouthing the words, but Quinn can read his lips either way. In response, he shrugs with a smile he knows might look a little smug. Sebastián wipes his face with his jersey sleeve, a world of wonder in his eyes as he seems to be taking in the fact that he’s in the bleachers.</p><p>Quinn wants to memorize the sight of him in his gear. There’s nothing else like it.</p><p>On the other side of him, Nick is grinning. “I think he saw you,” he remarks, but Quinn keeps his eyes glued to the curly-headed giant in the box.</p><p>“Indeed,” he says, and then Sebastián <em> winks </em> at him. Quinn’s butterflies are awfully persistent all of a sudden.</p><p>It’s just— he was cute before, and now he’s watching him do this thing, that he loves, and as it turns out is also really good at, or at least Quinn thinks he is— he has no way to measure hockey skill, but Sebastián moves on the ice with a level of bulky finesse that feels as calculated as dancing, and he looks so big and strong in his gear, and he’s sitting right here, seeing him watching the game, and it’s just— there’s so much, all at once, and Quinn— Quinn wants to kiss him.</p><p>He really, really does.</p><p>And he wants to be his boyfriend, too. It’s time for that conversation.</p><p>Sebastián waits out the duration of his penalty, half-giddy and looking full of adrenaline, and when the clock runs down on his allotted time, he looks sideways at Quinn one last time. <em> See you after </em>, he mouths, and then he opens the door on the boards to get back out onto the ice like a bat out of hell.</p><p>No less than a minute later, he gets a pass from Parker several yards out from the other team’s net, <em> slaps </em> his stick against the puck like he wants to break it, and fires the shot clean into the back of the other team’s goal.</p><p><em> BWOOOOOM </em>. Quinn has already heard the goal horn once tonight, when Yang scored, but unlike before, this time it sends him jumping from his seat.</p><p>He lets off a cheer into the chaos of the crowd, as he watches Sebastián pump his fists into the air and whiz off to the side to beam and shout at his teammates, who barrel him in a huddle-style hug on the blue line. Quinn laughs, watching the scene. It occurs to him that he’s one of only a few people to actually stand up to cheer, and he lowers himself back into his seat as the celebration continues.</p><p>“Quinn!” Gemma cries, looking his way after she applauds the goal. “He scored for you!”</p><p>“For me?” Quinn half-laughs and half-says, as he watches Sebastián skate down the line of his teammates on the bench. There’s some loud song playing, and on the bench, he sees Ben, Sebastián’s roommate and the backup goaltender, dancing along like they’re at a party.</p><p>Sebastián looks <em> exhilarated </em>. There’s no other way to put it. As he skates around to take his spot for what must be another face-off, Quinn swears he sees him point into the crowd.</p><p><em> Kiersey goal by number 43, Sebastián Hernandez</em>, says an announcer who’s been calling the goals all game long. Quinn isn’t sure where they’re sitting— in the press box, maybe. They pronounce Sebastián’s name wrong, and Quinn wonders if they do that all the time here. <em> Assisted by number 28, Parker Borst</em>.</p><p>“You have to come to every game,” Gemma says, sounding very serious for a moment. “You just lit a <em> fire </em> under his ass.”</p><p>When, five minutes of gameplay later, the clock runs out of time and the buzzer sounds, the players on the ice congregate around Ben and clap him on the helmet somewhat ritualistically. They file down the tunnel back towards their locker room, and Quinn watches them go, then lingers in his seat for a second, even as Nick and Gemma are standing up.</p><p>He just watched his first hockey game.</p><p>And if he has anything to say about it, it’s not going to be his last.</p><p>“I’ve gotta run, Quinn,” Nick says. “I promised Parker I'd meet him. It's good you came, though.” When he meets his eyes, Nick is smiling again. He's never been <em>unfriendly</em> by any means, but always sort of neutral and calm— this is by far the most enthusiastic Quinn has ever seen him get about anything. Maybe it's the Canadian in him. “And it looks like Nando was happy about it, too.”</p><p>With that, Nick is gone, and Quinn’s heart is speeding a little in anticipation. <em> See you after </em>, Sebastián mouthed to him when he was in the penalty box.</p><p>It’s after.</p><p>Quinn leaves the bleachers, tightening his scarf, and makes his slow way with the crowd up toward the main lobby by the locker rooms. He takes a spot against the wall next to where they go onto the ice, and wonders for a second if someone is going to yell at him for loitering— but then again, there are people all over the place, including Gemma, who looks like she’s holding a similar stakeout. Quinn looks around. It seems like the whole team is in the locker room—</p><p>— or— wait— the whole team but one.</p><p>Quinn could spot him from a mile away. Sebastián is still in full gear, save his helmet, which is an extremely agreeable site, and he’s darting his way through the crowd, eyes searching the lobby. Quinn thrills a little, knowing it’s him he’s looking for, and lifts his hand in his direction to wave.</p><p>He sees the moment Sebastián sees him, because they lock eyes through the crowd for a second, and Sebastián breaks out in this huge smile that sends Quinn’s butterflies on a rampage again. His hair is disheveled and sweaty, and his eyes are bright, and Quinn has never been more sure about something than he is right now.</p><p>Sebastián pushes the rest of the way through the crowd, and when he reaches him, he’s huge on his skates and he’s smiling so, so bright. “Hey, baby.”</p><p>Quinn has never been called a pet name before, but looking up at him, he’s certain that now is the best time he could think of for that to be changing.</p><p>“Hello, Sebastián,” he says, and it comes out all breathy, and he doesn’t care even in the slightest. “You scored a goal!”</p><p>Sebastián shrugs, still grinning, like it’s no big deal. Quinn wants to bridge the maybe footlong gap between them. “Had to,” he says. “For you.”</p><p>And then it’s like he reads his mind, because he steps forward and grabs him gently by the waist— his gloves are gone, too, Quinn realizes, but other than that he’s in full hockey mode, height-enhancing skates and all. Quinn rises on his tiptoes and winds his arms around his neck, and he knows what’s about to happen before it does, but that doesn’t make it any less wonderful when he finally, finally gets to kiss him.</p><p>It’s soft, a tender thing pressed close together, and Quinn squeezes his eyes shut, and he’s only distantly aware of the fact that Sebastián lifts him off the ground a little. The lobby is loud, but everything falls blissfully silent, and there’s that feeling again— they’re the only two people in this whole place, and he is <em> kissing </em> him, he is finally, <em> finally </em> kissing this boy—</p><p>When they come up for air, Quinn startles; he’s at least three feet off the ground. Sebastián is sweaty and windblown and thoroughly worked from his game, and the lips he just kissed are smiling, and he’s undoubtedly the cutest thing Quinn has ever seen.</p><p>“Hi,” Sebastián laughs, pressing his forehead to his, and his curls are kind of damp, but Quinn does not care. He has never cared less.</p><p>“Hi,” he replies, holding onto him for dear life, and Sebastián seems to notice that he’s slipping, because he moves his hands a little to hold onto him better. Quinn meets his eyes, and he know he sounds kind of eager, but he doesn’t care. “Can we do that again?”</p><p>This time, Sebastián kisses <em> him </em>, and it’s just as good as before— better, even, now that he has his bearings in his arms. Quinn presses his right hand against his cheek, and it’s a beautiful feeling. He tastes a little like Gatorade, sweat, and adrenaline. To stay steady, he winds his legs around his waist, finally up at his eye level. The one kiss turns into two before they pull apart a second time.</p><p>“I can’t believe you came,” Sebastián laughs when they do, his face still mere inches away. His eyes are bright again. Quinn’s thumb is on his cheek; it’s round and cute, soft just like the rest of him.</p><p>“I had to,” Quinn replies, pausing to smile just a little before adding, “For you.”</p><p>Sebastián grins like crazy, goes to kiss him again, and then pauses. “Is it, uh— okay? That we’re doing this?” he asks. “In public?”</p><p>“Oh, <em> God </em> , of course,” Quinn replies, going in to kiss him again, and he’s quite certain he could stay like this forever, even <em> with </em> being in public—</p><p>But then— “<em> Nando </em>!”</p><p>Sebastián jerks, but, thank God, does not drop him, at the shrill sound of a voice across the lobby. Quinn searches for the person, a girl whose voice is unfamiliar, but sounds like she means business. When he spots the girl, ginger-haired and shooting daggers at Sebastián, she's waving a clipboard menacingly over her head. For a terrifying second, Quinn is sure that by kissing him in the rink, he’s gotten him in trouble somehow. But then the girl adds, “If you don’t put your jersey in the laundry bin in the next three minutes, you’re washing it yourself before next game!”</p><p>“<em> Oh </em>,” Sebastián says, and it sounds like a sigh of relief, like maybe he was having some of the same worries Quinn was. To the girl, who Quinn wagers must be the team manager, he calls, “I’m coming! Sorry, LJ!”, still wearing this giant, adorable grin, and then turns to Quinn with raised eyebrows. “Uh… we may have a slight interruption.”</p><p>Quinn watches him for a second, so close he could touch their noses together, and then gives him a gentle smile. He doesn’t want this to end— not right now, not when it’s so good. “Where do you have to be after this?”</p><p>“After I undress?” He looks down at himself for a second, and Quinn takes the opportunity to remind himself that he’s in the arms of a dashing hockey man, and he’s just. He’s in his glory. “Anywhere you want me to be.”</p><p>“<em> Hmm </em>, I see.” Quinn tries not to smile too hard. He lowers his voice to a whisper and asks, “Meet me in my room?”</p><p>Sebastián beams, kisses him again, and says, “I’m there.”</p><p>The manager's voice booms across the lobby. “Sebastián Hernandez, I will fine you.”</p><p>Quinn snickers as they pull away. “What does she mean?” </p><p>Rather than answer, he sets him down on his own two feet again, and then, with one last, lingering, half-laughing kiss, says, “I’ll explain later.”</p><p>Quinn presses a palm to the <em> KIERSEY</em> written across his chest, just to feel the shoulder pads one last time before they’re gone. <em> Wow. </em>He is a lucky person. “I’ll hold you to that,” he says.</p><p>“Good.” Sebastián presses a kiss to his cheek, then lets him go, starting to walk backwards as LJ the manager looms menacingly in the background. “I’ll see you!” he calls. “Twenty minutes. Tops.”</p><p>Quinn folds his arms and cocks his head. “I’ll be waiting,” he remarks, and Sebastián laughs with a wink over his shoulder before he’s making a mad dash for the locker room and LJ’s reign of terror.</p><p>Quinn lingers for a second, watching him go, and then stands in the middle of the lobby by himself for a prolonged few seconds. He touches a hand to the side of his face again. If he thought he was warm before, he’s burning up now.</p><p>He can still feel him on his lips. He almost laughs out loud. Did that just happen to him? He feels like he’s about to do a breakout solo number where he yearns for his hockey-playing love interest.</p><p>Actually, what he needs to do right now is get back to his room. Right away. So that he can be ready when he comes.</p><p>So he makes a break for the front doors and then a beeline for Wilson Hall.</p><p>*</p><p>When he gets back to his room, he turns his ears off. He knows he’ll need to put them back on before Sebastián comes, so he doesn’t miss him knocking, but he just needs a moment— some peace and quiet, especially after the overstimulation of the crowd at Meelia for almost two hours. It was worth it— <em> goodness </em>, it was so worth it— but he’ll need a strategy, he concludes, going to Sebastián’s games in the future. He would be okay watching the whole thing without listening at all, but he can’t exactly do that if he’s with other people who might make conversation like Nick and Gemma did.</p><p>It’s okay. He’ll figure it out. He’s determined to go to his games. That’s what a good boyfriend would do, right?</p><p><em> Oh God. </em>He pauses next to his bed, flops down onto his mattress. He’s not even officially his boyfriend yet.</p><p>How did he forget that? He should have asked right after they kissed. He supposes he was too caught-up in the euphoria of the entire encounter to remember to ask the question.</p><p>Well, when he gets here, he resolves, as he reaches to switch on his string lights. When he gets here, he’ll ask him.</p><p>But <em> gosh </em> — what if Sebastián doesn’t want to kiss him again? What if he was too forward at the rink, if he made him feel uncomfortable? Of course, he reciprocated, but he could have just not known what else to do. Maybe he’s going to come here and they won’t kiss again, or, worse, they won’t kiss again and they won’t even <em> talk </em> about it. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe—</p><p>Maybe Quinn needs to relax. He takes a long, stabilizing breath while he stares at the pride flag pinned up next to his bed.</p><p>Everything is going to be fine.</p><p>He kissed the cutest boy in the world tonight.</p><p><em> Ah! </em> He allows himself three seconds of jumping up and down, then gathers himself and walks to his closet, smiling like a fool with no one to see him. He really did it. He kissed him. And he kissed <em> back </em>. And now that he’s done it once, he wants to do it again, and again, and again.</p><p>This is <em> definitely </em> the moment where he has a really good solo number.</p><p>He changes into comfortable clothes, taking a solid three tries to decide which random Kiersey shirt he wants to put on before finally just deciding on the free honors program shirt they gave him at the year-kickoff ice cream social in August. With it, he puts on his good pajama pants, the striped ones in blue and white, and he does <em> not </em> match in the slightest, but Sebastián saw him in his pajamas when they watched the movie last weekend, and he doesn’t care at all right now. He’s going over that kiss over and over. He <em> lifted </em> him! Clean off the ground!</p><p>Quinn <em> definitely </em> wants him to do that again.</p><p>He turns his ears back on once he’s changed, and the filter of white noise returns. To distract himself from the extremely uncharacteristic overthinking, he starts to pace— back and forth across his small cream-colored rug, over and over, more times than he can count before there’s finally a knock at the door.</p><p>Quinn stills and looks in the direction of the sound. It’s simultaneously felt like only five minutes since they parted and also several hours. In reality, he knows it’s been closer to the twenty minutes Sebastián promised.</p><p>He presses one hand to his stomach and one to his chest, allowing himself one long, stabilizing breath, just like the ones he does before he goes onstage. And once he’s exhaled, he squares his shoulders, stands up straight, and walks to the door to pull it open.</p><p>On the other side, Sebastián is in sweats now, just as tall and strong but much less sweaty and rumpled. His smile is soft and maybe a little shy, which isn’t like him. “Sebastián!” Quinn says, pulling the door open. “Come in.”</p><p>His smile widens a little, and all he says is, “Okay.”</p><p>Quinn ushers him inside, and he lets the door swing shut behind him. It feels like it takes forever to close. When it does, and the lock makes its clicking noise to secure it, Quinn meets his eyes, suspended just for a second in the silence between them. It’s just the two of them now. Will it be different?</p><p>But then Sebastián asks, in a soft voice just for him, “Can I kiss you again?”</p><p>Quinn lets all his breath out at once. “<em> Yes </em>, please,” he replies, so Sebastián does.</p><p>It’s just as soft as before. He doesn’t really taste like Gatorade anymore, but <em> goodness </em>, does he smell good— he must have washed up while he was changing out of his gear. His lips are soft and his hands warm, as he wraps his arms back around him, and Quinn finds anchor with his arms around his neck. He can barely reach him on his tip-toes, which is almost funny for a moment, because he knew he was small and Sebastián was a tower, but kissing adds a whole new level to that knowledge. Then he lifts him again, like he’s reading his mind, and Quinn winds his legs around his waist like he’s fit in his arms a hundred times before.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sebastián says, suddenly, between kisses, and Quinn opens his eyes, pulling himself out of the haze induced by his lips to quirk an eyebrow.</p><p>“What are you sorry for?” he asks.</p><p>“I don’t know.” Sebastián pauses, smiling almost bashfully, and says, “Getting carried away?”</p><p>“Carried away?” Quinn tips his head to the side a little. “Sebastián… I hope you understand that there’s <em> nothing </em> about this that feels carried away to me.” He pauses, takes his face in both hands, and looks right into his eyes. “I want this,” he replies. “To kiss you, I mean. I’ve been wanting it for quite some time.”</p><p>“Oh, thank God,” Sebastián mumbles, with a little laugh, and then nods as he leans back in. “Me, too.”</p><p>They stay like that— in the middle of the floor, Quinn resting comfortably in his arms— for a few more kisses. Quinn wonders if he’s heavy, but then again, if he were, he’s pretty sure Sebastián wouldn’t have picked him up in the first place.</p><p>He likes this. Being lifted. He likes this so much.</p><p>Still, he thinks they might benefit from moving this party. “Do you—” he asks. “Would you mind if we sat on my bed?”</p><p>Sebastián hums a little, eyes still closed from the last kiss, and then nods. “I wouldn’t mind at all,” he replies, and then takes him there.</p><p>They wind up in a sort of nest, with a blanket around them, tucked into each other, Quinn perched halfway on his lap for optimal positioning. When they find a good seat, Sebastián kisses him again, sweet and slow and eager, and Quinn lets himself savor it for a solid few seconds before he pulls away to press his face into his shoulder.</p><p>Sebastián winds his arms around him and squeezes tight. “You okay?” he asks. “Is this too fast?”</p><p>“No,” Quinn breathes, on an exhale. “This is perfect.” He pauses, with his head still on his chest, and chooses his words carefully. He would be happy to kiss him for hours, honestly, but he has to clear the ambiguity in his mind first. “I just.”</p><p>Sebastián rubs a warm hand at the back of his neck. “You just,” he says, patient as can be.</p><p>It’s now. It’s time.</p><p>“I’ve never done this before,” Quinn says, choosing his words slowly, “but do you want to be my boyfriend?”</p><p>“<em> Oh </em>.” There’s a smile in Sebastián’s voice, so Quinn lifts his head for its confirmation. When he meets his eyes, Sebastián’s grin has all the admiration in the world in it, and Quinn has never felt softer inside. “Yeah. Yes. Of course I want that, baby.”</p><p>There he goes again with <em> baby </em>. Quinn’s butterflies are back.</p><p>“Okay,” he breathes, with so much less composure than has ever been normal for himself, but isn’t that what happens when the hero of the story is falling for the love interest?</p><p>(He needs to stop comparing his life to musicals.)</p><p>Sebastián is smiling at him, and he knows he’s smiling back. He presses a kiss to Quinn’s cheek, then pauses, a question in his eyes. “Pet names?” he asks. “Are they okay?”</p><p>“Very much okay,” Quinn replies. He pauses to smirk a little, then adds, “But I’m not calling you Nando.”</p><p>Sebastián laughs, pulling him close to squeeze him tight. Into his ear, with warm breath that almost sends a shiver down his spine, he says, “Trust me. From you, I like Sebastián.”</p><p><em> Oh, </em>that accented pronunciation is going to do things to him. He sighs into his shoulder, nods, and catalogues that the Kiersey Hockey sweatshirt Sebastián is wearing right now seems optimal for boyfriend theft. Since they’re official now. He should ask for it, to christen their relationship.</p><p>He will, he resolves. But first, he’ll kiss him.</p><p>A whole lot.</p><p>So he pulls back up and presses to his lips, and finally, <em> finally </em>, neither of them moves for a long, long time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nando has always been an enforcer.</p><p>It’s not his fault! He’s always one of the biggest guys on the ice, and he plays defense, and his playing style is built with this intrinsic need to look out for his teammates on the ice. If there’s one thing he can’t stand in hockey, it’s when other players resort to being excessively dirty or cruel. Sure, scuffling is a ton of fun— but there’s a big difference between scuffling and flat-out breaking the rules just to hurt other people. It’s unsportsmanlike, and he’s never been afraid to get scrappy over it, whether he’s defending a teammate or himself.</p><p>So tonight, when he watches Remy get tripped on a rush that’s about to become a breakaway, he’s ready to throw hands.</p><p>The ref waves the play dead with a chirp of the whistle, and Remy hits the ground on all fours; it looks like it knocks the wind out of him, but he’s moving again right away, so he seems to have evaded injury. But still, what the fuck! The trip <em> could </em> have seriously hurt him. Nando jostles his way through the wall of Yale players to get to the perpetrator, yelling over the chorus of his teammates’ nearby voices. “Hey, you trying to play fuckin’ dirty or something, dude?”</p><p>The tripper, number 19, shrugs and flashes a smug smile. “What’re you gonna do about it, asshole?”</p><p>Nando steps forward to shove him, and he stumbles on his skates just a little but goes to throw a punch in response. But then— <em> chirp </em> — the ref blows his whistle again, bringing down an arm between them. Nando bristles as the ref holds him back. He <em> wants </em> a piece of this guy. He’s chock-full of adrenaline, and he’s in the mood to channel it somewhere.</p><p>“UNH 19, two minutes, tripping,” the ref calls, and then, “Kiersey 43, two minutes, roughing.”</p><p>Oh, shit! Nando grins wildly at the asshole. Matching penalties. He might get chewed out later for taking a penalty, but at least his roughhousing didn’t put them down a man.</p><p>Whatever. He loves getting in the occasional scuffle. To the sin bin they go.</p><p>He half-dances across the ice on the way to the box, leaping onto the bench inside when he gets there. Number 19 doesn’t seem so enthused, like he’s pissed that his dirty move actually got him penalized. Welcome to playing by the rules, buddy. Nando flashes a thumbs-up at him across the glass. The guy scoffs.</p><p>Get fucked, number 19.</p><p>He poises himself to start watching from the box as their matching minors show up on the scoreboard and they line up again on the blue line. To his left is number 19, but all around the remaining two sides of the box are people in the bleachers; he grins as he looks around at them. There’s even a person sitting directly to his right, and he glances over to wave at the random spectator—</p><p>— and then realizes it isn’t a random spectator.</p><p><em> Holy shit </em>. He locks eyes with the cutest boy on campus, who smiles and gives him the tiniest wave.</p><p><em> Holy shit! </em> He can’t help it— he jumps up from the seat in the box and knocks against the glass. Quinn is in his knit white scarf, and his pale cheeks are rosy in the cold of the rink, and he laughs as Nando sees him. <em> Hi </em>, he watches him say.</p><p>“You’re at a hockey game!” he cries, and he knows, over the sound of gameplay on the ice plus the steady murmur of the crowd, that Quinn likely won’t hear him, but he <em> also </em> knows that he can read lips, so he’ll be able to tell what he’s saying.</p><p>Quinn shrugs, his smile persistent, and Nando wipes his face while he stares out at him. He’s <em> here </em> — he can’t believe he came, to see him, at a game; he’s not sure he’s ever been softer in his entire fucking <em> life </em>—</p><p>Oh, he is <em> so </em> ready to get back out on that ice right now.</p><p>He winks at Quinn, then sits back down. He’s pumped full of even more adrenaline than before, if that’s even remotely possible, and the penalty countdown seems to take forever. Once it’s about to be over, he looks over at Quinn one last time, who is the cutest thing he thinks he’s ever seen, sitting here all bundled up and watching the game and smiling at him. “See you after,” he calls, then makes a mad break out of the box.</p><p>The next few minutes are a blur, mostly because his brain is a chorus of <em> cute boy cute boy cute boy!!!! </em> and also <em> hockey time!!!!!!!!!! </em> all at once, but when he collects a quick pass from Parker and has a clear line to the net from the blue line, he takes the shot on the one-timer.</p><p>It goes in. Top. Fucking. Shelf.</p><p>He cellies as hard as he can. He knows, in his heart, that that one was all for Quinn.</p><p>*</p><p>It occurs to Nando, around the third or maybe fourth time that Quinn presses his lips to his in the crowded lobby at Meelia, that he is having a really, really good day.</p><p>Like, okay, it was already good because there was a game, and then it was <em> double </em> good when he saw that Quinn was here, and then he <em> scored </em> off the pure adrenaline of that realization, but <em> this </em>— this takes the cake.</p><p>Because this is his first kiss with the boy he’s been thinking about for weeks, and it’s. His brain is shutting itself off. And also screaming! At the same time! Because Quinn is <em> here </em> and he’s in his arms and he came to watch him play and now, now he gets to <em> kiss </em> him, and it’s every bit as soft and sweet and good as he could have possibly daydreamed or imagined—</p><p>He can barely get a hold on the English language, and when they pull away from one of several kisses, he takes a breather, meets those blue-green eyes. Quinn’s entire face is flushed, and he knows that his is likely the same, or at least that’s how it feels, because this may be a hockey rink, but he is warm from head to toe. “I can’t believe you came,” he breathes, and it’s half a laugh and half a sentence, as he holds him close.</p><p>Quinn presses his thumb gently into his cheek, and the gesture is so tender that Nando thinks he might combust right here and now. “I had to,” Quinn says, simply, with a smile to match his easy tone. “For you.”</p><p>Nando is <em> definitely </em> going to combust. He leans down to kiss him, then halts for a second, not exactly second-guessing but more just hesitating, because, well, they haven’t really addressed— “Is it, uh. Okay? That we’re doing this?” He pauses just a moment before adding, “In public?”</p><p>“Oh, <em> God </em> , of course,” Quinn breathes, and that is every cue Nando needs to kiss him again. If people want to judge, let them. They are having a <em> moment </em>, God damn it!</p><p>“<em> Nando </em>!”</p><p>The voice is shrill, like a vibe check from God, and Nando jerks out of the sweet kiss at its rude interruption. He grimaces a little, because he knows exactly who that yell belongs to, and he knows what it means, too. He’s about to get chewed out.</p><p>Quinn is looking, like he knows, too, and Nando thinks they both spot LJ at the same time; she’s standing by the locker room door, waving her clipboard menacingly. What’ll it be? <em> Stop being obvious and gay in public? Why are you out here before getting undressed? First a penalty and now PDA? </em>He winces in anticipation.</p><p>“If you don’t put your jersey in the laundry bin in the next three minutes, you’re washing it yourself before next game!”</p><p>“<em> Oh </em> .” Nando feels a weight lift off his shoulders. That is <em> decidedly </em> less terrifying than the number of other things that could have come out of her mouth. “I’m coming!” he calls. “Sorry, LJ!” But he can’t even help it; he knows he’s still grinning like a doofus. He turns back to the boy in his arms, raising his eyebrows a little, and remarks, “Uh… we might have a slight interruption.”</p><p>Quinn is quiet and contemplative for a moment, then smiles gently again, and asks, “Where do you have to be after this?”</p><p>“After I undress?” Nando surveys his gear. It won’t take long. And he likes where this is going. “Anywhere you want me to be.”</p><p>“<em> Hmm </em>, I see,” Quinn replies, like he’s really deep in thought about it. When he speaks again, he’s whispering, and his eyes are gleaming like the tropical ocean on a warm day. “Meet me in my room?”</p><p>Oh, <em> fuck </em> yeah. Nando kisses him again. “I’m there.”</p><p>“<em> Sebastián Hernandez I will fine you </em>.”</p><p>Quinn laughs against his mouth, and when they come up for air, looks up at him to ask, “What does she mean?”</p><p>But Nando puts him down— that can be a topic for another time. “I’ll explain later,” he replies, then, oh, fuck it, he cannot help it, kisses him one last time.</p><p>Quinn rests a hand on his chest. On his own two feet, he is so adorably short that Nando thinks he might actually lose his shit. “I’ll hold you to that.”</p><p>“Good.” Nando kisses his cheek before he lets go, then starts to make his backtrack to the locker room; every step he takes that separates them feels way too far. “I’ll see you,” he says, and then promises, “Twenty minutes. Tops.”</p><p>Quinn, the cutest thing he has ever seen, folds his arms and tips his head to the side. The little swoop of his hair tosses across his forehead. “I’ll be waiting.”</p><p>Nando laughs, winks, and then whips around to make a mad dash for the locker room.</p><p>On his way there, he pulls off his jersey, dodging passers-by in the lobby and taking care not to trample their shoes with his skates on the rubber ground. When he reaches LJ by the door, he waves the sweater in her face. “Directly to laundry!” he cries, in a blur by her, and then adds, “I’m sorry!”</p><p>But the murderous rage has dissolved, and now that he’s following her orders, LJ is grinning at him. He would feel a chirp coming on if he weren’t running by her so fast.</p><p>He drops his jersey in the laundry bin on top of all his teammates’, and then rounds the corner into the actual locker room. The guys are in various states of undress; he left his helmet on his spot and made a break for the lobby to find Quinn right after final buzzer. Now, the only one left in basically full gear, he feels twenty pairs of eyes on him as he comes to a screeching halt in the doorway.</p><p>It’s Parker who breaks the silence. “Hey, what happened?” he asks, with an arched eyebrow and a grin. “You look like you just won the lottery.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Remy adds, “why’d you run out of here so fast?”</p><p>“<em> I </em> know why,” Ben says, all obnoxious, like they’re in middle school. “His <em> boyfriend </em> came to see him.”</p><p>A murmur goes around the room, half intrigue and half chirp. “<em> Yoo </em>, Dez,” Teegs asks, shaking out his sweaty, dark hair, “you’ve got a boyfriend?”</p><p>Nando takes a deep breath, looks between his teammates, and stays cool for exactly three seconds before he feels his resolve disappear and he breaks out in a shit-eating grin. To Teegs, he shrugs, despite the complete loss of calm, and says, “I think I do now.”</p><p>In true Kiersey Hockey fashion, the locker room explodes.</p><p>“<em> Yoooooooo </em>!” Ben literally throws a water bottle at him. “Nanny!”</p><p>Parker is nodding approvingly, with this big smile, which is literally the most validating thing ever. “Nando! That's so awesome!"</p><p>“That’s why you scored, isn’t it?” Teegs laughs at the ceiling and squirts Gatorade at him. “You glorious fucking bastard.”</p><p>“There should be a fine for that.”</p><p>“<em> Foooiiiine </em>—”</p><p>“Nando is <em> getting some </em>—”</p><p>Nando laughs, darting through the crowd of yelling jocks and back over to his actual spot, where he starts taking his skates off as fast as he can. Ben is immediately at his side (in his boxers) demanding details, and Remy appears out of nowhere on the other side. “<em> Dude </em>,” Remy whispers, all conspiratorial. “What happened?”</p><p>Ben nudges him. “Yeah, spill the tea!”</p><p>Nando cannot stop smiling, as he starts to get out of his gear. He takes a deliberately long time to respond, looking between the two of them, and when he does, he shrugs, like the greatest thing in the entire world didn’t happen all of five minutes ago. “May have kissed him.”</p><p>“<em> Sebastián Hernandez </em> ,” Ben cries, with an aggressive slap to his shoulder, “you are my <em> fucking hero </em>.”</p><p>Remy laughs. “Get it, Nanny.”</p><p>Nando runs his hands through his hair and laughs, pressing his forehead to the shelf on his locker. He allows himself just a second, to bask in the glory, to relive what just went down. Around him, his friends and teammates are still going wild. It is a <em> very fucking good </em> day.</p><p>He is going to kiss Quinn <em> so much </em> when he gets back to his room.</p><p>But right now, he needs to do the fastest undress and shower of his life.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sebastián is a good kisser.</p><p>Well. It’s not as if Quinn really has anyone else to <em> compare </em> him to, exactly. Of course, there are the handful of stage kisses he’s had, but those have all been acting, and all with girls— nothing attached to him. And his first kiss with a boy— his only one, until about an hour ago tonight— was nothing more than an awkward party dare, a brief thing that left him over-analyzing and emotionally confused for weeks. He counted that, before tonight, as his first kiss— but now he thinks maybe he shouldn’t.</p><p>Because this— tonight, with Sebastián, from the first kiss in the lobby at Meelia all the way back to winding up curled up in his bed with him— <em> this </em> , he knows, is what it’s supposed to feel like. And given that he’s pretty sure he’s able to imagine what a <em> bad </em> kiss would be like, he knows that Sebastián is good at it.</p><p>At first, he’s a little self-conscious. Sebastián has a bit more experience than he does, and he knows that, and he knows none of that past experience <em> really </em> matters tonight, but it still puts him at a slight disadvantage in terms of figuring out how this goes. But the longer he sits there, wrapped up in this little nest of the blankets in his bed, in this cute boy’s arms, the more that worry dissolves.</p><p>He can’t focus on much, if he’s being honest, except the way it feels to actually kiss him.</p><p>Sebastián is warm, and he’s holding him by the waist, so strong and so big that Quinn could just about disappear into the embrace. He’s tucked up in his lap, and he thinks his lips might be a little swollen by now, but he isn’t sure he ever wants to move.</p><p>They take a pause to breathe, and Quinn opens his eyes for the first time in what feels like quite a little while. Sebastián is smiling; his dimples are prominent, and the string lights catch in his warm brown eyes. “Is this okay?” he whispers, with all the gentle care in the world in his voice. “You’d say if it was too fast?”</p><p>“Oh, goodness, of course it’s okay.” Quinn reaches to cup his round cheek in one hand. He feels so hot in the face that he knows he’s blushing all over. That’s alright, though. He doesn’t mind blushing for him. “It isn’t too fast at all.”</p><p>“Okay.” Sebastián looks so adorably eager. His curls are still a little damp from the shower he took after his game, and Quinn tries how it feels to run his hand through them. He leans into his touch, then, with that huge smile persisting, adds, “I— I <em> really </em>like kissing you.”</p><p>“So do I,” Quinn replies, because <em> gosh </em>, does he ever. He tries pressing a kiss to his dimple, right at the edge of his mouth. Sebastián lets off the softest little hum.</p><p>Goodness, he’s not just a cute boy anymore. This is his <em> boyfriend </em>.</p><p>Quinn is having a <em> good day </em>.</p><p>He pulls Quinn by the hips just a little, settling him more evenly in his lap. And Quinn knew, when he started seeing him, that there would come a time (if all went well) that he’d be man-handled; he imagined that <em> many </em> times, but tonight he’s been lifted off the ground two separate times and now he’s just moving him like it’s <em> nothing </em> and— goodness. He’s such a fan of their size difference.</p><p>“You just, uh—” Sebastián says. “Tell me if you need to take a breather or anything, okay?”</p><p>“Of course.” Quinn nods. He rests his palm on his chest, near the lettering on his sweatshirt. (He still plans on stealing that sweatshirt, especially now that they’re official.) “And you do the same.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Sebastián says, with a nod of his own. His curls bounce a little, which is more adorable than should be legal. “Yeah, for sure.”</p><p>And then Quinn can’t resist; he kisses him again, and it is all they do for such a long time. There’s nothing in the world tonight but this— a cocoon of blankets, the pride flag soft-lit by the string lights, the smell of his shampoo, the way his strong arms feel around his waist.</p><p>And the sheer joy, the sheer satisfaction, of <em> finally </em> getting to kiss this boy.</p><p>He’s not sure how long they just sit there. When they pause for more than a few seconds, it’s not even because of anything either of them does; somebody outside in the hallway passes the door, talking so loudly they can hear him from in here. It wouldn’t be notable, except whichever hallmate it is is cursing like a sailor. “... we’re fuckin’ getting turnt the <em> fuck </em> up tonight!”</p><p>Quinn glares through the door over his shoulder, like it’ll shut Marcus from room 304 up, but alas; his loud footsteps disappear without further incident or reprimand. Sebastián, meanwhile, chuckles, and says, “Well, he’s ready to party.”</p><p>“Party,” Quinn echoes. “It’s— goodness, it’s too late to party.”</p><p>Sebastián chuckles a little. Quinn looks back at him, meets his eyes again. “Too late to party, huh?” he hums, in this little teasing voice. “Y’know, you’re dating me now— you’re gonna see how hockey guys party.”</p><p>Quinn literally <em> giggles </em> into his chest— goodness, he’s gone on him, isn’t he? And he doesn’t mind one bit. To hear him talk about the fact that they’re together is so new, so good. “You’re right,” he replies, nodding, with his cheek pressed into the sweatshirt’s neckline. It smells like boyfriend. “You’re absolutely right. I will have to see that, won’t I?”</p><p>Sebastián kisses the top of his head, then gives him a tight squeeze. “That and so much more,” he murmurs, and, just… <em> gosh </em>.</p><p>Quinn doesn’t want him to leave.</p><p>He doesn’t have to, he realizes. But he has to have been here at least forty-five minutes, caught up in all this kissing— and he hopes he isn’t thinking he’s intruding or anything. Quinn should vocalize it. “Sebastián…” he begins, in a voice that comes out soft. “I know it’s late, but… don’t go anywhere.”</p><p>Sebastián chuckles a little. He squeezes him around the waist with one arm (<em> one arm </em> , winding around his whole person!) and replies, “Baby, trust me; there is <em> nowhere </em> I’d rather be right now.”</p><p>It’s all Quinn needs to hear.</p><p>They swap more than a few kisses in that same spot, him tucked into his lap, but then somehow wind up under the covers. “Do you—” Quinn holds up his comforter, as he makes the proposition. “— want to go under?”</p><p>Sebastián, who, by the way, takes up half his bed in the best way possible, studies him for a moment. “Under the covers?” he asks.</p><p>Quinn winches at himself a little. “Is that weird? I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Wait, hey— no.” He leans to kiss him, and Quinn near melts; it’s a soft kiss but such a sweet one all the same. “No, baby.” His huge smile is back. “That’s not weird at <em> all </em>.”</p><p>They wind up snuggled under the covers, Quinn stretched out across his chest, with his leg hooked around his waist. Sebastián props himself against the headboard a little with a pillow, and it is the <em> ideal </em> little kissing position. Except maybe being in his lap, but Quinn is drowsy, and the kisses have grown sweet and lazy. He’s not sure he ever wants to move.</p><p>It’s not their first time having a little cuddle session in his bed, but this feels <em> distinctly </em> different from their movie-watching session last weekend.</p><p>It’s like an upgrade.</p><p>And Quinn is so content, in fact, that he barely pays it any mind when they ditch the making out in favor of just resting there together. Sebastián rubs his back, slow circles with a huge, warm hand, and Quinn rests his head against his chest, closing his eyes with his cheek pressed into the soft sweatshirt again. He hums a little, and then decides there’s only one thing that could make this more relaxing.</p><p>But will he think it’s weird? He hopes not. “Sebastián?”</p><p>The smoothest, most contented voice in the world answers him. With his head on his chest, he can feel him speak, and it’s so, so soothing. “What’s up, baby?”</p><p>“Do you, um…” He swallows, takes a little breath. “Do you mind if I take my hearing aids out?”</p><p>“Oh!” Sebastián is nodding, and he looks up to see him as he adds, “I don’t mind at all. If that’s comfortable for you?”</p><p>“It’s very comfortable,” he confesses. “I tend to turn them off or take them out when I’m in here. But if you’d rather keep talking…”</p><p>“Oh, no— no, you should take them out,” Sebastián says. “If you want to, then definitely.”</p><p>“Okay.” He unwraps his hand briefly from his chest, to bring it to his ear. “If you’re sure?”</p><p>Sebastián kisses his forehead. “Positive.”</p><p>So he turns them off, then takes them out, rolling over halfway to put them into their case on the nightstand. The world is peacefully noiseless, just the way he likes it, and when he rolls back over to snuggle up with him again, he tries speaking. <em> I, um… </em> he starts, and he can feel himself, but not hear himself, of course. <em> I do have a small speaking voice without them, but— I can’t hear it, so— I’m sorry if I’m being loud? I never quite know. </em></p><p>He sees and feels Sebastián laugh, then shake his head.</p><p><em> And I can read your lips decently </em> , he adds. <em> Plus, I’ll feel you— </em></p><p><em>It's okay, baby, </em> he watches him say, and wonders if he’s whispering. The vibration doesn’t feel that heavy in his chest. <em> You don’t have to  ... different than ... normal. </em></p><p>He nods. Thank goodness for the fact that he understands.</p><p>He kisses him once, and their lips are still a little wet, which feels nice, actually. Sebastián holds the back of his head for its duration, then smiles at him when they pull away, kissing each of his cheeks before he lets him settle back down.</p><p>Quinn snuggles into his chest, draping his legs across his under the comforter, and lets out all his breath in one go.</p><p>This is so nice.</p><p>It’s so nice, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice when Sebastián’s rubbing on his back gets slower and slower, then stops altogether. He just rests there, not asleep but not quite alert, either, and lets the time pass as it pleases. What does it matter if it’s late?</p><p>But something does matter. And he only realizes when he decides he wants another kiss, and lifts his head to get one.</p><p>Sebastián’s eyes are closed. At first, he thinks he’s just resting, the way he himself was a moment ago. But when he nudges him a little, thumbs at his cheek, his eyes <em> stay </em> closed. And that’s when Quinn realizes that his gigantic hockey boyfriend of a few hours has fallen asleep in his bed.</p><p>Oh, goodness.</p><p>It’s not a bad thing, right? All they were doing is cuddling. And gosh, this is <em> college </em>; people meet and hook up all in the same night. His boyfriend accidentally falling asleep in his room is far from scandalous; it’s perfectly alright. As long as Sebastián is alright with it.</p><p>Maybe he should wake him, to be sure. He nudges him again, and tries a whisper. <em> Sebastián? </em></p><p>But either he’s too quiet or Sebastián is a deep sleeper, or maybe both. He’s breathing deep, and his eyes stay closed, and he’s not waking.</p><p>Quinn feels a little bad. They hadn’t brushed their teeth, or anything. He’s not sure exactly what Sebastián’s bedtime routine is, but he’s quite certain he’s just deprived him of it in its entirety. And goodness, what if Ben is waiting up for him? He hopes he isn’t.</p><p>He doesn’t want to disturb him— he really doesn’t want to do that. He looks so peaceful, and he’s so warm, and the position he’s fallen asleep in feels like it would be the ideal one to remain in all night long. But if they’re really going to do this, and Quinn is going to let him spend the night in here— well, he should at least brush his teeth and get the lights.</p><p>So he does. He unwraps from him, rolls out of bed, and pads over to his bathroom caddy, where he pulls out his brush and toothpaste, then makes the short walk over to the bathroom. After a quick stop there, he swipes back into his room, closes the door firmly behind him, and hears it lock itself again. He wonders if he’s made a ruckus, and if <em> that </em> will wake him. But Sebastián is still asleep.</p><p>And if he is, then so he is.</p><p>Quinn certainly doesn’t mind it.</p><p>He turns off the string lights, then crawls back into bed, pulling the comforter over the both of them. Sebastián’s arms tug back around him in his slumber, and he presses his cheek into his sweatshirt again, and he sighs.</p><p>He hopes, when he wakes up in the morning, that Sebastián will be alright with this.</p><p>But until morning, he’ll just lay here, in his arms.</p><p>*</p><p>Nando didn’t mean to fall asleep in Quinn’s room.</p><p>In fact, when he wakes up in the morning, he doesn’t even register right away that he <em> is </em> in Quinn’s room. All his initial thoughts are just <em> warm </em> and <em> snuggly </em> and, when he opens his eyes, <em> cute boy cute boy cute boy </em>. Quinn has his arm draped across his chest, and he’s dead asleep in the morning light, lips still just a little swollen from last night.</p><p>And <em> that’s </em> when he realizes.</p><p>He doesn’t feel like it’s a <em> problem </em>, really. Like, they’re officially dating now, and even though he’s pretty sure Mama would have his head on a spit if she knew he’d fallen asleep with his new boyfriend on the same night they kissed for the first time, well… she’s 2,000 miles away, and this little secret can be his and Quinn’s to share.</p><p>He really, <em> really </em> likes the way Quinn looks in his arms.</p><p>Quinn wakes slowly, when he does, and Nando isn’t sure how long he’s been up when it happens. He shifts against his chest, then blinks a few times, bright blue-green eyes all hazy in the morning light through the window. He moves his head, tips it up to look at him, and then, with the tiniest little hum, he inches up to eye level and kisses him slowly.</p><p><em> Jeez. </em>Nando is in deep.</p><p>“Good morning,” he murmurs, when they pull away. He makes sure Quinn is looking at him when he adds, “I… I’m sorry I fell asleep without meaning to.”</p><p>Quinn shakes his head with a little smile. His speaking voice is different, when he can’t hear himself, and it’s the cutest shit Nando has ever heard. “I’m okay with it if you are,” he whispers.</p><p>Nando nods rapid-fire, which is so, so overenthusiastic, but he doesn’t care at all how he appears. He knows it won’t matter to Quinn. “I am,” he tells him.</p><p>Quinn smiles bigger. Nando kisses that smile, and the morning melts into more of the same from last night.</p><p>Jeez, he <em> really </em> likes this boy.</p><p>When, some time later, he’s getting ready to head out for the roadie bus, Quinn sits on the edge of his bed and swings his socked feet. “You know, Sebastián,” he says, “if, um… if you were okay with staying here last night?”</p><p>Nando nods at him, as he’s fishing his slides up from where he left them last night on Quinn’s little white rug. “Yeah?”</p><p>“I…” Quinn pauses to bite his lip, which is so hot that Nando almost trips over the rug trying to get his slides on. “I’m not opposed to that happening again,” he says.</p><p>Nando’s stomach flutters. He smiles at him, so big, and says, “Oh— really?”</p><p>“Really.” Quinn nods. He’s smiling, too. “Just… my door is open, I guess?”</p><p>Nando laughs. He crosses the small room to cup his face in his hands and kiss him. Quinn giggles against his mouth, and it’s a very good sound.</p><p>“I’ll keep that in mind,” he hums, as smooth as he can manage, and Quinn swats his chest, laughing with his forehead pressed to his.</p><p>“I bet you will,” he says. “Oh, and— one more thing?”</p><p>“Sure thing, baby.” He brushes the swoop in his hair; he still has a case of bed head. “Your wish is my command.”</p><p>Quinn’s smile looks sneaky, all of a sudden. He looks him up and down, then bats his eyelashes. <em> Jeez. </em>Nando is so fucking gay.</p><p>Quinn tips his head to the side. “Can I have your sweatshirt?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Technically speaking, tonight is not Quinn’s first Kiersey Hockey party.</p><p>Because after all, the whole reason he met Sebastián was his <em> actual </em>first party, the Halloween one, which was only a few weeks before now but feels like it was forever ago. He came here on his own accord, based on the invitation Nick extended, completely unknowing of what to expect. And he survived. A real frat party. In fact, he came out practically unscathed; he emerged with a cute boy’s number, even. So tonight, three weeks to the date after the Halloween party, being in the hockey house on Beech Street is not a new experience. Nor is the party atmosphere.</p><p>But it <em> feels </em> different. Tonight, it’s better, more comfortable, less of a social experiment and more just a social event. Because tonight, he’s here as a hockey boy’s boyfriend.</p><p>He’s a <em> little </em> giddy, maybe. It’s been about twenty-four hours since they made it official, after Quinn went to his game last night, and tonight he walks into the hockey party feeling like a new man. He’s wearing the freshly stolen Kiersey Hockey hoodie of Sebastián’s that he managed to acquire before they parted this morning, with his one pair of <em> jeans </em>, if you can believe it.</p><p>He’s here on invitation, and although he was with Sebastián for several hours after the game last night and then when they woke up this morning, it feels like it’s been forever since he saw him. They had an away game today— or, as Sebastián calls it when they play off-campus, a roadie, not to be confused with Rhodey, the team’s nickname for Sebastián’s best friend, Ben (goodness, it must get confusing)— so, anyway, Quinn hasn’t actually seen his brand-new boyfriend since early hours this morning. The game was only at UNH, so they didn’t have to stay in a hotel, and it landed them back on campus after a 3-0 win, according to Sebastián’s excited text to him earlier.</p><p>
  <em> Sebastián♥️: we won!!!!! 3 to nothing. it was awesome!!!!!! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Me: Congratulations!!🥰🥳 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sebastián♥️: thank you!! ❤️❤️ i miss you! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sebastián♥️: come to the beech street house tonight? we’re throwing a party! </em>
</p><p>Quinn really has no idea what energizes these boys to party so much, but he shows up on Beech Street after he eats dinner anyways.</p><p>It’s a hopping place, but maybe that’s just how the house always is after dark. Meeting up with Sebastián takes him all of two minutes, because he’s tall and loud and cute as can be, and when he sees him through the crowd, his face lights up, and he cries, “Quinn!” and then kisses him right in front of everybody and nothing in the world matters at all.</p><p>It’s been about an hour since he got here, or at least Quinn is pretty sure it’s only been an hour. Sebastián is drinking, but only a little, and the music is loud (Quinn has his volume turned way down), and the hockey guys are all being really nice to him, as he sticks to Sebastián’s side like glue. They dance a little, but Quinn is so awful at dancing when it isn’t choreographed that he laughs his way off the unofficial dance floor in the living room after half of a song.</p><p>Mostly, they just talk to other people. From a meeting over lunch at the dining hall last week, Quinn already knows Sebastián’s two freshman friends on the team, Ben and Remy. But tonight, he meets others— like the captain, Parker, Nick's boyfriend; he remembers Quinn from the Halloween party. (“I found out the captain had a boyfriend in October,” Sebastián murmurs into his ear, one hand on his back, as they walk away after talking with him and Nick for awhile. “They’re really cute together. I basically want to be just like Park when I grow up.”</p><p>Quinn laughs and goes to kiss his cheek as they walk through the ruckus. “When you grow up?”</p><p>Sebastián shrugs, and his smile in the party lights makes Quinn’s stomach turn inside out. “When I’m a senior.”)</p><p>Now, Quinn stands by a table, spectating over a rather intense game of cup pong. It’s Sebastián and Ben versus Remy and another player on the team, Marc, who's also French-Canadian. He and Remy are a million times better at sinking their shots than Ben and Sebastián are, and the whole sight is mildly entertaining.</p><p>“<em> Fuck </em>!” Ben cries, when one of his attempts bounces off the rim of a cup and onto the floor. “I’m fucking cursed, I swear to God.”</p><p>“You have a serious problem,” Remy replies, retrieving the ball from the ground and dusting it off on his shirt. He passes it to Marc, because it’s his turn, and Quinn watches as his toss arcs perfectly over the table and lands with a <em> plop </em> in the closest cup on their side.</p><p>“<em> Shit </em>,” Sebastián laughs, because it’s his turn to drink, but the cup is only filled about a quarter of the way, so he downs it with minimal effort. Quinn laughs at the scene.</p><p>“You two are awful at this,” he remarks, looking up at him and Ben, and Ben feigns offense, putting a hand to his heart, while Sebastián laughs at the ceiling.</p><p>“You’ve only been dating him for a day and you’re already chirping his pong skills?” Ben shakes his head and lets off a low whistle. “Tough crowd, boys.”</p><p>“Here.” Sebastián presses the ball into his hand, and Quinn looks up at him to widen his eyes as he says, “You take a shot.”</p><p>“Yeah, show us what you got!” Ben is grinning from ear to ear. “Can’t chirp if you can’t back it up.”</p><p>Chirping, Quinn recalls, is hockey speak for teasing. He guesses he did ask for this. As he lifts the lightweight pong ball to the light and studies the cups across the table, he feels dozens of partygoing eyes all on him. The newcomer. The freshman. The boyfriend.</p><p>You know what? Screw it. He’s going to try.</p><p>“Okay,” he replies, stepping forward to get a better angle, and Ben hollers gleefully into the crowd. He looks over his shoulder to Sebastián for a second, who is smiling like crazy.</p><p>“Whenever you’re ready, baby,” he says.</p><p>The pure adrenaline of being called <em> baby </em> alone is enough. Quinn lines up his aim, squints, and sends the ball flying toward Remy and Marc's triangle of cups.</p><p>It seems to move in slow-motion, but when it does land, with a <em> plunk </em>, it’s in their centermost cup.</p><p>The general vicinity around Quinn erupts. “<em> OHHH </em>!” Ben cries, jumping up and down, and Remy starts laughing hysterically at his friends. Quinn receives various high-fives and claps on the shoulder from people he doesn’t even know.</p><p>“Duuuude, he <em> owned </em> you,” Marc says, pointing to Sebastián and Ben, and then drinks the contents of the cup Quinn sunk it in. Marc nods to him, adding, “Good shot, frosh.”</p><p>Quinn falls backwards, into Sebastián’s waiting arms, and when he looks up at him again, Sebastián is grinning at him with something vaguely impressed in his eyes. He leans down to whisper, “That was kind of hot.”</p><p>There’s a flutter somewhere in Quinn’s stomach, and he grins back at him. “I’m afraid that might be the extent of my lucky frat party talents,” he replies. “Not to disappoint you or anything.”</p><p>“Oh, trust me, baby,” Sebastián mumbles. “There is <em> nothing </em> disappointing about you.”</p><p>The kiss they exchange after that doesn’t last quite as long as Quinn wants it to, but that’s only because they get a moment to themselves before Ben is shouting, “Hey, Nanny! Not to interrupt your gay hours, but it’s your turn.”</p><p>Sebastián pulls off of him and laughs, keeping him close to his chest. Quinn is dazed. He tastes like beer and sweat, and he wants… more of this, please.</p><p>He finishes the game of pong with Ben, and once it’s done, they make their way over to what could be considered the edge of the dance floor. There’s some random electronic song playing, and it’s musically atrocious but good for moving around to. Quinn hasn’t had a drop of alcohol tonight, nor does he plan on it, but parading around at Sebastián’s side like this is intoxicating all on its own. He’s here, with him, and it’s almost like Sebastián is showing him off, and it is <em> beyond </em> lovely.</p><p>“I’m an awful dancer,” Quinn confesses, as Sebastián is trying to get him to move with him to the music.</p><p>Inches away with his hands on his waist, Sebastián knits his brows like he doesn’t believe him. “You do theatre!”</p><p>“I’m awful at <em> this </em> kind of dancing,” he amends, hooking his hand around his hip. No one has ever touched him quite this much before. He doesn’t want it to stop.</p><p>“We don’t have to dance,” Sebastián replies. He looks past him, in the direction of the kitchen. “We could take a breather? Go find Park and Nick?”</p><p>“Mmm…” So close to him in this crowd, Quinn isn’t so keen on the thought of leaving it. He steps a little closer to him and shrugs. “We <em> could </em> do that.” He pauses, tips his face up towards his, and meets his eyes in the low light. “ <em> Or </em> we could stay here.”</p><p>He kisses him gently, at least at first, but Sebastián seems just as on board with the general idea as he is, because he pulls him very close all of a sudden, holds him tight with his big hands around his back. He still tastes like the party, and Quinn presses up against him, threading one hand through the slightly sweaty curls on his head. Sebastián’s lips are soft, but his kiss is anything but. It’s close, and warm, and so good, and Quinn has a feeling he’s about to leave the ground, but then—</p><p>“<em> Nando </em> .” The voice booms through the sound system over the music. Quinn jerks, and Sebastián pulls away to look up toward the noise— his teammate, the Cuban one who does the music, is holding his funny little DJ mic and looking <em> right, directly </em> at the two of them. “I’ve seen enough tonight,” the DJ continues. “Five dollars in the sin bin for that shit.”</p><p>Dispersed throughout the party, the hockey players heckle at this announcement. “<em> Foooiiiiineeeee </em>,” someone yells, and Quinn recognizes Ben’s cackle over the noise. The DJ gives them both a nod, waving his mic kind of menacingly, and Sebastián looks somewhere between amused and put on the spot.</p><p>“It’s a fucking party!” he calls, in the DJ’s direction, and puts Quinn down firmly on his feet.</p><p>Quinn has no idea what just happened. He winds his arms around his neck, watches the DJ laugh at Sebastián, and then cocks an eyebrow up at him. “Sin Bin?”</p><p>“<em> God </em> —” Sebastián shakes his head, squeezing him around the waist. “Okay, so there are fines on the hockey team? For PDA? I didn’t think I was going to get busted, but Teegs just called me <em> out </em>.”</p><p>“Oh my goodness.” Quinn bites back a laugh. “So every time we kiss in public, you have to pay?”</p><p>“I mean.” Sebastián pauses. “I just got five dollars for the <em> whole </em>night, so, like. Not technically.” He looks around, then reaches for Quinn’s hand and pulls him a little ways out of the crowd. When they stop, they’re against the wall near the kitchen, close to the spot in the house where they met for the first time. Sebastián winds an arm around his waist, then adds, “But they’ll probably fine me again, given the opportunity.”</p><p>“So…” Quinn pauses, rests a hand on his chest. “Where does the money go?”</p><p>“Oh, anywhere,” he replies. “Parker mostly uses it to buy food for the house or fund roadie meals.”</p><p>“That’s…” He has never heard of a system like this in his life, but it sounds mildly entertaining. Except when it interferes with kissing his brand-new boyfriend at a party. “I don’t understand sports culture.”</p><p>“Sometimes, I don’t, either.” Sebastián kisses his forehead, in a manner that’s significantly softer than he was on the dance floor. “Are you doing okay?”</p><p>“Me?” Quinn raises his eyebrows. “Are you kidding? I’m <em> great </em>.”</p><p>“Oh.” Sebastián smiles. “Cool. Good. Okay. ‘Cause so am I.”</p><p>Tilting into his arm, Quinn looks around the room for a second. The DJ is still dancing around to his own beats, and Ben is nearby, talking to a girl Quinn recognizes as the team manager who borderline threatened Sebastián's life yesterday. They’re secluded, but the party is still hopping, and looks like it will be for the foreseeable future.</p><p>“Hey,” he says, lowering his voice a little, and rises on his tiptoes. “I have to tell you something.” Sebastián angles his ear towards him, and he cups his hand around it, all secretive, feeling silly and so, so head over heels all at the same time.</p><p>“There are no fines for kissing in my room,” he whispers, then pulls back to wink— and the knowing, flustered smile Sebastián returns is maybe the best sight he’s ever seen.</p><p>He’ll prove that. Later. But first, he’s going to enjoy the party.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey hey, <a href="https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/">come hang out</a> on tumblr!! Thank you for entering the wonderful world of Kiersey College, Quinn and Nando, and their friends!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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